Dancers, artists, and musicians gathered under the open autumn sky in Brooklyn for a vibrant celebration of culture, community, and heritage. In a city shaped by centuries of layered history, the gathering brought together Indigenous people from across regions and nations to drum, sing, and compete in traditional dance contests.
As captured by photographer Frankie Alduino and reported by Jeremy Rellosa for New York Magazine, the event served as both a joyful family gathering and a profound act of cultural persistence. Against the backdrop of Prospect Park, participants donned intricate regalia that bridged ancestral traditions with modern artistry, offering a powerful reminder of the enduring presence of Indigenous communities in the metropolitan landscape.
For many attendees, the gathering functioned as a vital space for connection and shared identity. Howard Crouse, a tenth-grader from Salamanca, New York, described the atmosphere by likening it to a large-scale community event. "It’s like a big ol’ gathering. Almost like a concert, but for us," Crouse explained.
While Crouse identifies as Seneca and noted that large powwows are not traditionally part of his home nation’s customs, he participates for the joy of the community and the preservation of movement. Among the specific traditions of his people is the smoke dance, a fast-paced contest dance historically utilized to clear traditional longhouses of smoke. "Our feet would make the smoke rise and push it out," Crouse said, noting that winning such a contest requires swift, precise footwork and the best moves out there.
The park grounds were filled with participants of all ages, from young children to seasoned cultural keepers, each representing different nations, traditions, and geographic roots. The visual tapestry of the gathering was anchored by the detailed regalia worn by dancers. Cory Ridgeway, a program specialist from Cedarville, New Jersey, pointed out the specific markers of identity embedded in the clothing. "You’ll see a lot of different floral work on mine, which usually means the person wearing it comes from a woodland area," Ridgeway noted. "There’s ribbon work down the front of mine, which is very traditional for Lenape people. But we also use contemporary fabrics and designs."
This blend of historical continuity and contemporary expression was echoed by younger participants and elders alike. Mathyias “Kûkûlksit Tûme” Ellis, a twelfth-grader from Bridgeton, New Jersey, walked through the symbolism of his specific outfit while preparing for a distinct performance. "I’m a prairie chicken," Ellis said. "The dance I’m doing is supposed to resemble a rooster during mating season trying to get the girls’ attention. It’s all flashy moves."
Beneath the celebration and artistry lies a deeper narrative of survival and cultural revitalization. Kiara Tanta-Quidgeon, an Indigenous-health researcher from Boston, Massachusetts, emphasized the historical weight of public gatherings like the Prospect Park powwow. "This is an active revitalization for our communities," Tanta-Quidgeon said. "For a long time, there was a legal prohibition of our dances by the colonial government. The fact that we’re still out here and doing this despite hundreds of years of that suppression is a really beautiful thing."
That shadow of historical suppression and generational trauma remains a reality that families continue to navigate. Janiyakuha Webster, a cultural keeper from Bowler, Wisconsin, reflected on the challenges of keeping ancestral traditions alive in the wake of systemic erasure. "For many years, my family wasn’t able to speak our language," Webster shared. "My great-grandparents would go into the basement to talk, and they wouldn’t let the kids down there. So there are a lot of cycles that people have to break now because of our generational trauma."
For others, navigating multiple worlds has been a lifelong experience shaped by geography and family migration. George Stonefish, a consultant from East New York, reflected on growing up in Manhattan during a different era. Recalling his childhood near 82nd Street—where he noted that quarterback Joe Namath once lived around the corner—Stonefish described spending summers with his grandmother in Canada, where he learned about traditional powwows and ceremonies. "It taught me to be versatile," Stonefish said. "I can deal with rich white people and I don’t get intimidated. And then I go to a reservation and I fit right the fuck in."
As the drumbeats echoed across Prospect Park and dancers moved through the autumn air, the gathering offered a living testament to resilience, community bonds, and the vibrant continuity of Indigenous culture in the heart of New York City.
